


Engulfed in Flames

by DM_DM



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DM_DM/pseuds/DM_DM
Summary: Engulfed Definition:1. (of a natural force) sweep over (something) so as to surround or cover it completely.2. powerfully affect (someone); overwhelm.
Relationships: Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Original Female Character(s), Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 26





	1. I

**30th July 1939**

Tom felt as though he had been lied to; the beach was supposed to be warm. Warm and sunny and sparking joy. Indeed, Tom felt he had been lied to. The wind cut through his thin jumper, prompting gooseflesh to rise along his arms. However used to cold he was- there was rarely even the idea of warmth down in the dungeons- the feeling never ceased to bring a scowl to his otherwise charming face. Tom glared down at the children playing in the cold water from his vantage point on the hill above. Idiots. All of them. Stupid, snotty children. He would happily watch them all freeze to death. Attempting to reign in his anger, Tom turned his back to the sea and the idiots splashing around in it. He could distantly hear the nasally voice of Billy Stubbs yelling. He tried to block him out but the voice-that nasally voice full of malice- was coming closer to Tom. Despite the rationed food and the lack of funds in the orphanage, Billy was large- tall for his age with a fair amount of bulk. Tom had first hand experience with Billy's bulk and did not fancy a week of nursing bruises. For there would be bruises with Billy Stubbs.

"Oi. Freak." Billy was climbing the small hill, narrowed, watery eyes fixed on Tom's back. Tom sighed, a deep exasperated sigh. Tom decided he had two options: turn and confront the much larger boy or walk away- not run, Tom never ran away. Tom was no lion. He was a snake and as such he knew when not to fight and with no magic outside of school and with far less height and bulk, Tom knew this was not a fight he wanted to fight. And so Tom walked away from the boy with the nasally voice and large fists. The cave. Tom knew there was a cave around here somewhere- he had hidden from Mrs Cole in there a few years prior during one of their annual group excursions. If only he could remember which direction the cave was. But his mind was blank and Billy was coming closer and Tom was losing his head start. _Left_ he decided. _l'll go left._ Tom was walking rapidly to the left and didn't stop until he could no longer hear Billy's lumbering foot steps and then some more. This time the sigh that escaped him was one of relief. No purple and green bruises for today at least. Small mercies.

Tom sat on the yellowing grass, the dusting of sand irritating him greatly. Tom was unbelievably uncomfortable on the ground but knew with the fading light they'd soon be shepherded back to London. He couldn't determine which was worse: the uncomfortable beach or the uncomfortable orphanage. He sat, picking at the half dead grass by his feet and mentally calculating how many days he had left to suffer through in the Muggle world. 39 days. 39 days until he boarded the Hogwarts Express to begin his third year. 39 days. 39 days un-

Sea. Sand. Yellow grass. Purple flames. Screaming. So much screaming. A body. A girl.

Tom wasn't certain what had just happened. It looked like the sky had cracked open. The pale blue cut open to reveal a portion of a night sky, accompanied with a full moon and stars. A figure surrounded by purple flames, bright fierce looking flames fell from the crack. And now she lay screaming not even two meters away from where he sat on the yellow dead grass. Perhaps Tom did not need to wait 39 days after all. A small smile tugged at his lips before a scream ripped from her throat.

Tom stumbled to his feet and ran over to the broken looking girl, sand and grass falling from his fingers. Her face covered in various shades of blue and black and purple and green and yellow. Her limbs bent completely out shape- broken, Tom was sure, in multiple places. Silver hair matted with blood. But it was her eyes that made him pause as he stared from his position over the young girl. Caught somewhere between honey and whiskey and full of recognition. Recognition of him. Her screams turned to desperate gasps and pants as her chest shuddered with the effort of breathing. The purple flames surrounding her died down completely, leaving red and blackened skin in its wake. Her hand twitched.

"Tom," she gasped, the sound barely heard over the howl of the wind. Tom doubted himself, doubting that he heard correctly. Because there was no logical reason for this girl to know his name, know him. But she said it again. And again. _And again._ Each more desperate than the last.

Tom. Tom. Tom.

Her left hand was still twitching.

"l'm here," Tom felt the need to comfort the broken dying girl. Which startled him far more than her. The girl's repetition stopped at his words, placated momentarily. She stared up at him with those blue eyes until she began again.

"Hand."

Hand. Hand. Hand.

Tom looked down at her twitching hand, the only part of her that didn't seem broken, yet still he held it gently. He tried to be as gentle as physically possible, trying not to jostle her broken arm. She groaned in pain regardless of his slow movements. He gently unfurled her fingers. And there, nestled on her palm, surrounded by a smattering of fresh blood. A snake. It was a small thing covered in green scales. It wriggled on her skin, looking for a comfortable spot on her battered skin. He touched the small mark, stroking at gently with his index finger. Some small part of him expected scales under his finger but instead was met with smooth, unblemished skin. He felt a slight prick of disappointment. The green snake turned his face to Tom and slithered on her palm to directly under his index finger and up. The snake slithered from her skin to his through the minimal contact of his finger on her palm. Tom hastily pulled away but the snake slithered further up his long pale finger before settling, wrapped around his wrist.

The girl was still gasping-each breath more ragged than the last. Tom could see the pain she was in clearly written across her face, but still she chanted his name. Over and over. Tom. Tom. Tom.

"l'll go get help," Tom promised. He stood, letting go of her hand, and looked around for help. The other idiot orphans were still playing in the water a great distance away, Mrs Cole taking generous sips from her flask not far from the water's edge. How they hadn't heard the screams he wasn't sure. Magic he guessed. He cursed under his breath. What was he going to do? His curses became a chant alongside the girl's. Fuck. Tom. Fuck. Tom. Fuck fuck fuck.

Tom's swearing became louder as the girl stopped and her eyes closed and a steady trail of red dripped from her nose. He was so loud he almost didn't hear the crack of apparatus from behind her.

"Tom m'boy I got your letter, what is the emerg- " the portly man stopped abruptly at the sight of the broken girl lying at the feet of his favourite student. "Tom m'boy, what happened?" Horace Slughorn's face was twisted in confusion and panic.

"Professor, she-she fell from the sky and she-and she needs a hospital. She needs a healer. We need to go-we need to go right now. Right now!" Tom's words were rushed and stuttered and came out in one long breath. Slughorn stared at the typically collected and rather reserved boy as he panicked. Slughorn knelt and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and reached down to grasp the girl's arm, wincing as he felt her broken bones.

"This will be unpleasant and I apologise m' boy."

Tom decided Slughorn's use of the word 'unpleasant' was an understatement. The feeling of his internal organs twisting apart and growing whilst his outsides shrunk before rapidly piecing back together, all under a second. It was far more than unpleasant. But the evening skyline faded and was replaced by clean white walls.

* * *

The waiting room was exceedingly dull. White walls and a few uncomfortable chairs dotted around. Tom felt as though the room would drive him crazy with its lack of anything interesting. His leg bounced up and down as he waited- from boredom he told himself, boredom and irritation and is she okay? The professor had gone to owl his contacts in the auror department, muttering about _Slug Club_ and _Longbottom perhaps_ and _parchment._

Tom desperately wanted to inspect the snake tattoo currently on his forearm but knew better than to roll up his sleeve in the open space. Later, he told himself. Later when there would be no prying eyes or difficult questions. But still his hand almost burned with the need to tear his jumper and reveal the serpent and know everything about it.

She knew him. His name had fallen from her mouth over and over like a prayer and Tom couldn't wrap his head around it. He had so many questions, no means of finding answers and a hatred of being left in the dark. And the lack of mental stimulation meant all he could focus on was his vexation. His anger and those brown eyes.

Slughorn re-entered the room, hands twiddling from their resting position above his rotund stomach as he sat in the chair adjacent to Tom's own.

"Aurors will be here soon m'boy. Just to ask you some questions so they can determine what happened, who she is and the like. I assure you m'boy you aren't in any trouble." Slughorn was smiling in what he thought was a reassuring way but his brow was still furrowed and his hands still fidgeting as he rambled. Tom had long since learnt that his professor often spoke for his own sake, not necessarily for that of his conversing partner. "They'll be here soon m'boy. I asked specifically for an old student of mine- Edward Longbottom. Excellent brewer," he leant closer to Tom, lowering his voice in a conspiratory fashion, "I do take full credit for that of course." Slughorn continued his monologue for so long Tom was almost grateful for the arrival of the aurors.

The two wizards entered the otherwise empty waiting room, both cloaked in dark navy robes, large silver badges pinned to their breastbone. The men were rather tall but that was where the similarities between the two wizards ended. One of them reminded Tom of Billy - broad chest with beefy arms and a thick neck and a stupid look on his face. Where the first resembled a tree trunk, the second was more like a twig. Tall and gangly and looked as though he could be snapped in half by a gentle breeze. The waiting wizards stood to greet the new arrivals with varying degrees of pleasure.

"Professor, Mr Riddle," the twig like one acknowledged each in turn with a limp handshake and a kind smile. _Hufflepuff_ , Tom decided. "I'm Auror Bourne and that," he gestured to his colleague, who was still conversing with the professor, "is Auror Longbottom." The wizard sat opposite Tom's original seat and motioned for the young teen to follow suit.

"We're just going to ask a few questions," he pulled a quick-quotes-quill from his robes and set it up as he spoke, "we've spoken to a healer who's described the girl's injuries and current conditions and now we need your account. Profes-"

"How is she?" Tom interrupted, his leg resuming its previous bouncing.

Bourne's answering strained smile was answer enough.

"I see."

"Professor Slughorn will be here as your guardian as you're underage is that alright? Or would you prefer we contact family?"

"The professor is fine." Tom's words were clipped but family was often a topic to be avoided with Tom.

Bourne's strange smile was still present as his partner and Slughorn rejoined the discussion.

"Lets get on with it," Longbottom said, large hands slapping his thighs, voice gruff and impatient. "Who is she?"

"I have no idea," Tom answered honestly. "I've never seen her before in my life."

The aurors looked to Slughorn next, hoping for an identity. "She's certainly not a Hogwarts student. Could be a muggle for all I know."

"Tom- may I call you Tom?- how did you come across the girl?"

"We were at a beach near London; I'm afraid I couldn't tell you which one without-"

"We?" Longbottom interrupted, looking again to the professor.

Tom's teeth clenched momentarily before he replied. "Myself and the occupants of Wool's Orphanage."

"Ah I see. Do they know where you currently are?" Tom shook his head, fists clenching at Bourne's condescending tone. "We'll inform them after this meeting."

"What happened then?" Longbottom urged.

"I had stepped away from the group for a moment and she just... appeared. It seemed as though she fell from the sky. I was just sat on the beach and next thing I know she's bleeding out on the ground in front of me."

"Did you see anything? Anyone?"

Tom shook his head, "No, no there was just us and the orphans- all muggle."

"The majority of her injuries appear to be due to a fall, the healers tell me. Was there anywhere she could have fallen from?"

"No, we were on a hill." Bourne's transfer from kind to condescending was grating on Tom's nerves greatly.

However, Longbottom's change from indifferent to suspicious was grating more. "Did she say anything to you?" Echoes of screams and gasps and 'Tom. Hand' filled his ears but Tom knew better than to tell two aurors that the mystery, likely assaulted, girl knew his name.

"No. No she was unconscious." Longbottom's eyes narrowed further as he stared at the young teen. Tom took a deep calming breath, it wouldn't do him any good to get visibly angry at aurors conducting an investigation, especially one concerning him.

"What happened then?"

"Professor Slughorn arrived and apparated us here." Tom felt nauseous recalling the mode of transport.

"And how did the professor know where you were and what had happened?"

Tom had no answer to that. How did Slughorn know? Longbottom sat back in his chair, arms crossing his chest, seeming stuck between feeling defensive and feeling smug.

"You sent me an emergency letter m'boy. Remember?" Tom would've kissed the Professor at that moment. The man in question dug through his robe's pockets before eventually withdrawing blue parchment.

_Professor Slughorn_

_S.O.S_

_Westcliff Beach_

_Tom R._

It took every lesson he had ever learnt from Slytherin house to control his reaction to the short missive, for it was written most definitely in his own handwriting but Tom had no recollection of ever having composed it.

Longbottom snatched the letter from Slughorn, inspecting it carefully. _Gryffindor_ , Tom guessed, _with manners like that._

"What d'you carry Emergency Parchment for?"

"I only carry it during summers. Owl delivery isn't exactly smart when surrounded with muggles. Statute of Secrecy and all that."

"How lucky you took some to the beach."

Tom's inner serpent reared its head again: not a confrontation you want. He instead turned to Bourne. "You said earlier that the majority of her injuries were from the fall. What were the others?"

Bourne hesitated, right hand fingering something under his left sleeve- likely a holstered wand.

"Dark magic."

"Gentlemen," a quiet feminine voice spoke from the doorway, cutting the tension. The wizards all rose to greet the healer. "She's awake."


	2. II

**Chapter Two**

**30th July 1939**

The two aurors had been gone for far too long Tom decided. With no natural light and no clocks, time seemed merely a concept in the waiting room- seconds stretching to hours. _Although_ , Tom mused, _that could be Slughorn’s doing._ Perhaps it was a need to fill the oppressive silence, perhaps it was simply the professor enjoying the sound of his own voice, either way Tom was desperate for a reprieve. Muttering something about the mens room, Tom abruptly left the room without an inkling of the direction he ought to go. 

_Left._ Going left had resulted in rather positive outcomes for him earlier in the day and so Tom decided left again. He gave a strained smile to the witch at the welcome desk and a polite nod to a passing wizard. Colour coded signs to various wards and departments lined the walls. 

_Artefact Accidents_

_Magical Ailments and Diseases_

_Restrooms_

_Potions and Plant Poisoning_

_Janus Thickey Ward_

_Visitors Tearoom_

_Hospital Shop_

Tom decided to follow the directions to the restrooms, passing the accident ward into the Magical Ailments and Diseases section. Tom was forced to slow his brisk pace as he turned a corner into a busy corridor. Several wizards and witches in lime green robes loitered outside a small room, all muttering theories and comments and rumours to their colleagues. 

“I heard she’s a muggle from France.”

“Attacked by Grindlewald’s followers.”

“Left for dead.”

“No she’s a long lost heiress.”

“No memory of anything.”

“Ghastly.”

“Grindelwald himself tried to kill her.”

“Dropped by a muggle war plane.”

“Did you see the scars?”

Tom couldn't help but laugh at the antics of professional healers. Clearly some things did not change after Hogwarts. Rumours and whisperings in hallways, Tom always thought it to be rather juvenile and something that ended when school did. Well, occasionally Tom was wrong. Weaving his way through the crowd, he couldn't resist a look through the window of the room that was generating such a buzz. All he could really see through the small window was the backs of the Aurors from earlier. It must be the girl’s room. That put a new perspective on things. How many of those rumours were true if any? 

He could see Longbottom begin to make his way out of the room. Tom did not fancy another confrontation with the idiot and so decided to retreat back the way he came to the waiting room, mind spinning with the possibilities of this girl. 

* * *

“The aurors said you can’t remember anything.”

From his place in the doorway Tom could see they had cleaned her up. The blood and dirt and sand had been scoured away and her ruined dress replaced with the standard white hospital robe. However, not all evidence of her fall had been removed; her skin was mottled, white hair matted and limbs restrained in casting. Beneath all that though it was clear to Tom that she was beautiful. Or at least had the potential to be. Perfectly sloped nose and a long, elegant neck, softly defined jawline and wide, expressive eyes. _Yes, she has potential to be attractive._ Although some of his classmates had the ability to sit through a superficial conversation with a pretty girl, Tom had never properly picked up the skill. 

Vials and flasks lined the bedside table- _pain relief_ and _blood replenishers_ and _anti-inflammatories_ and _blood clotters_ and _Skele-Gro-_ a testament to the extent of damage done to the slight girl. The mediwitch he had spoken to before said she would be in St. Mungos for a while yet- another few weeks minimum. At least until the bones mended and the internal injuries fixed- her apparent memory loss another case entirely. 

_“It could come back,” the healer had said. “It could simply be a matter of shock or trauma that’ll eventually wear off. It could be the residue of a spell. It could be something else entirely- a permanent issue. We don't know. Only time will tell.” No memory meant no answers. Tom was determined to discover the answers- those concerning himself at a bare minimum._

Due to the nature of her case, she had been placed in a private room. It was rather small and empty- merely a cot bed, a bedside chair, the occupied table and small cabinet in the far corner- and like the rest of St. Mungos, blinding white walls. 

The girl refused to make eye contact, choosing instead to analyse his entire person, remaining silent the entire time. If there was one thing that annoyed Tom more than anything it was people not acknowledging him- far too many years of being put in a far corner and ignored in his former years at the orphanage. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, frustrated by her lack of response and the general lack of answers. She finally met his eyes, searching for… _something_ and coming up short _._ Her brows furrowed and she shook her head. 

“Should I?” her voice was raspy, barely more than a whisper but in the silent room he heard her fine. She cleared her throat, chasing away the rough edges of her voice before trying again, “Should I know who you are?” she sounded almost as desperate for answers as he felt. 

Tom didn't know how to answer. _You did before,_ he wanted to say. _My name was the only thing you could say._

_Why?_

_Why why why._

Tom wanted her to be lying. He wanted her to know everything and have all her memories and only be pretending she knew nothing so she could explain… well, _everything_. However, Tom was well versed in the language of liars, being fluent himself, and it was clear to him she didn't speak the dialect. 

“Do you know who I am?” she asked instead, hope and optimism leaking from every pore. 

“No idea.” Perhaps he had been too blunt; the girl flinched slightly before deflating back into the pillows. Tom came further into the room, closing the door behind him as he came to stand by the foot of her bed. “My name’s Tom. I was the one who found you.” A slight smile tugged at her lips as she attempted to sit up straighter in the small bed- a difficult task given the broken limbs. Tom wanted to help but wasn’t certain how to without causing more pain so instead merely stood by. She managed to shuffle herself upwards into an almost upright position against the pillows. 

“Nice to meet you Tom, I’m-” she began enthusiastically but the words stuck in her throat. She floundered, mouth opening and closing as she searched her mind for a name, for anything, and coming up short. Those amber eyes filled with sudden unshed tears and her bottom lip wobbled. Tom grimaced, outward displays of emotion had always made him feel uncomfortable. It was one of his favourite things about his Hogwarts house: emotions were seen as an exploitable weakness and therefore usually buried deep until one was at least alone. Wailing and screaming and sobbing wasn’t tolerated in the dungeons, something he was typically grateful for. Now however, he realised how unprepared he was for comforting those in distress. _Be nice and she’ll tell you everything if her memories ever come back._ His eyes widened almost comically as he scrambled for the chair by her bedside. It was just as uncomfortable as the ones in the waiting room if not more so but Tom swallowed his displeasure. 

“Hey. Hey. Hey. They said it could all come back. We can- we can just give you a name. Just in the meantime. Just- just stop crying. Stop crying please.” Tom never stuttered and he never said please unnecessarily. He couldn’t understand why he was suddenly stumbling about the place trying to placate a girl. “Stop crying!” he snapped, reaching the end of his incredibly short fuse. Although whether his frustration was aimed more toward the small girl or more towards himself he wasn’t certain. She flinched away from him, tears falling freely now as she screwed her eyes shut. 

A sharp stabbing pain flared up on his left forearm. He swore, pulling up his sleeve. The skin of his arm was smeared in fresh blood, running freely from two small cuts. Bite marks.

 _What the hell?_ The small green snake tattoo slithered from its newest resting place in the crook of his elbow back and down to his wrist. Tom could feel it's cold belly crawling under his skin. The sensation was new and altogether unsettling- Tom had never felt the snake before. But now he could feel the scales of the creature moving under the layers of flesh. It quickly circled his wrist, constricting the blood flow, the image reminiscent of an ouroboros. One beady eye glaring at Tom, flicking out its tongue towards the girl. Tom returned the glare to the small tattoo as it began its movement around his wrist again. Tighter and tighter, until he could feel pins and needles shooting in his wandhand. The snake stopped moving, again flicking its tongue in the direction of the still sobbing girl. Tom tilted his head back and let out a deep resigned sigh, finally understanding the snake’s reasoning for attempting to remove Tom’s hand from his person. 

“I’m sorry,” he said through clenched teeth. Nothing. No change. His left began to cramp. Tom reached out with his uninjured hand, grasping hers gently, much the same as he did the day before on the beach. She started at the contact, amber eyes flying open. His much larger hand cradled hers from below, his thumb tracing small circles on her palm. “I’m sorry,” he gently repeated. 

“It’s okay,” the snake loosened its vice-like grip immediately, retreating somewhere up his sleeve as he let out a breath of relief. _Got it. Be nice to the girl or lose my hand. Message received._ “It’s not your fault. I’m just- I don’t know anything. And I don't like not knowing.” she removed her hand from his, wiping at her eyes and cheeks.

If there was one thing Tom understood it was emotions that accompanied being uninformed. 

“We’ll figure it all out. Don't worry about it.” Smiling tentatively, he took her hand back, holding it between the two of his, squeezing it gently. She returned his smile, before finally noticing his wounds. 

“Oh my… Oh Merlin. We need to sort that out,” she nodded towards his arm. “There’s a blood clotting potion there. Perhaps some dittany? That’ll be more useful. I'm not sure if it’s in here though. Do you need a blood replenisher? Oh you’ll have to get it yourself I’m afraid because I can’t move. I’m sorry. Oh that looks painful,” she rambled, head swinging between her collection of potions and his arm attempting to sit up further as she fussed. “Oh! I’m an idiot. We’re in a hospital. Let me call a healer.” She missed the faint, unassuming smile on Tom’s face. When was the last time anyone had ever fussed over him like this? If ever?

Tom removed his wand from its pocket, whispering a quiet _Tergeo_ to siphon the blood. His mind blanked on the correct incantation to close the bite marks. The girl watched him, waiting for his magic. After a silent minute of Tom staring at his yew wand and the girl staring at Tom, she realised he didn't know the spell. 

“Prope Vulnere.” 

The damaged skin pulled closer, magically stitching itself back together, leaving only two faint pink marks. Tom looked up, closely studying her. Wandless healing magic was not an easy feat. _Where had she learnt that?_

_Definitely not a muggle._

“Impressive,” he complimented, hiding the surge of suspicion that rose in his gut. His praise prompted a bright blush to spread over her pale cheeks. Tom smirked. He knew he was conventionally handsome. It was factual, according to the rather forward Gryffindor girls, as opposed to subjective. But still, reactions such as hers never ceased to inflate his ego further. Tom decided not to acknowledge the rouge, knowing that her joy would soon turn to embarrassment. Tom tucked his wand away, his right hand still holding her left absentmindedly running his thumb over the soft skin. 

“Now I can’t keep calling you ‘girl’ so we need a name for you.” 

Eagerly she nodded, “Any ideas?” 

Tom could not think of a single girl's name. His mind raced through every girl and woman he knew. Every celebrity and author and legend... And nothing. 

“Sandy,” he blurted. 

“Sandy.” 

“I found you on a beach. Beaches are sandy,” he shrugged one shoulder, the boyish action unfamiliar to him. Her nose scrunched up and brow creased at the name. The perfect pureblood sneer. 

“I am not being called Sandy. Regardless of where you found me. That’s ridiculous.” 

“You come up with one then.” He knew his suggestion was stupid but her sneer set his teeth on edge. No one spoke to him as though he were stupid. Not even her. He had been subject to that look far too many times to count in his past three years at Hogwarts and would not stand for this girl to do it too.

“Ginerva.” It had been the first name to enter her head and she wondered if it held any significance to her. She didn't think it did. The boy sat silent at her bedside before snorting in amusement- soon he had erupted into a genuine, throaty laugh. 

“Ginerva,” he wheezed, thoroughly amused. 

“Okay not Ginerva,” she relented rather readily. 

“Merlin no,” he said, wiping stray tears from his eyes. 

The two continued this for a while, one suggesting a name and the other immediately turning it down. 

Bathilda. Dorothy. Casseopia. Florence. Beatrice. 

No. No. No. No. No

Tom’s laughter could be heard outside the room as Horace Slughorn came to check on his wards. It was a rare sound for the Professor to hear. Tom, though polite and charming, was often extraordinarily reserved- more so than the typical Slytherin- so the loud laughs were shocking but far from unwelcome. Slughorn smiled at the sound. Entering the room, Slughorn was even more shocked at the sight of his student holding the mystery girl’s hand. 

The two turned to face the newcomer, almost irritated at the interruption. Slughorn fidgeted slightly, at the feeling of being unwanted. Although typically ignorant of the opinions of others, Slughorn understood he was encroaching on a private moment between the two youths. Still, as is his nature he he encroached further, 

“Pleasure to meet you Miss,” Slughorn presented his hand for a handshake, hastily retreating when he saw the young girl couldn't properly move her arms and her only undamaged hand was wrapped securely in Tom’s. “Potions master at Hogwarts, Horace Slughorn.”

“Nice to meet you Professor,” she offered him a polite albeit superficial smile. Tom stood to offer the older man his chair, sitting instead on the edge of the girl’s bed, hand still firmly holding hers. 

“Now, tomorrow- around noon- a friend of mine will be joining us. He’s a legilimens. Do you know what that is dear?” The girl barely managed to restrain herself from calling the man out on his condescending tone, opting instead for a simple, “Of course Sir.”

“Good good. Yes so he’ll be here tomorrow and we’ll go from there. Is that agreeable Miss?”

“Of course Sir.”

“Excellent.” The old professor slapped his thighs, “Right Tom, I believe it best if we leave the lady to rest. It’s been a rather long day.” He stood from his chair, joints creaking slightly. The boy in question looked rather hesitant, eyes flicking between his professor and the girl. 

“I’d prefer to stay. If that’s okay?” Eve nodded rather shyly, alabaster cheeks turning rosy pink. 

Slughorn smiled knowingly at the two. “If that’s the case, I’ll go and tell your carers where you are Tom. Or at least a decent excuse. Now I trust you will ensure no funny business m’boy,” he laughed slightly at his own joke. 

“Of course not professor.” Slughorn nodded, content with his star student’s answer. 

“Good. Good. I’ll bid you good eve then miss.” He stumbled slightly to the door, grinning at the pair once more before leaving, closing the door behind him. 

“Eve’s not a bad name you know,” Tom said. 

“Eve,” she repeated. She hummed slightly. “I like it. Evelyn.”

“Evelyn it is.”

“So why don't you want to go home?” Eve asked the slightly peculiar boy. He remained silent, merely staring at her from his place on her bed, bewilderment clear on his face. “Don’t pretend you're staying with me out of the kindness of your heart,” she continued, shrugging rather nonchalantly. “You’re avoiding going home- it was obvious to anyone watching.” 

Tom’s eyes narrowed, suddenly cold. And he was tense, as if his whole body was coiled, ready for anything. It was interesting for Eve to watch. The change from the laughing, attentive boy to  _ this _ was interesting. And he slipped from one to the other so easily, so quickly. Rather interesting. 

“Don't pretend to know me or my motives,” he sneered, letting go of her hand and standing from his place perched on the end of her bed. Between his glare and the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists, she should have been intimidated. Instead, she was rather amused. 

Admittedly he was tall, and others would readily understand the look on his face as a promise of pain should she misstep- a facial expression she assumed was frequently painted on- and his  _ eyes _ . Brown that should have come across as warm but instead were so so cold. Yes, she  _ should  _ have been intimidated. She likely would have been had the boy not just been absentmindedly tracing circles on the back of her hand not even a minute before. Tom couldn't have been older than fourteen-fifteen. And under the baggy, slightly patched grey jumper he wore, she could tell he was scrawny. Right now he reminded her of a stray cat in an alleyway; skinny and underfed and rather rough around the edges and looked like it could easily claw someone’s eyes out. It was a good thing she liked cats, especially those that were rather rough around the edges; Eve thought cats to all be affectionate to those that showed kindness to them. They would not scratch the hand that fed them. Instincts told her this was also the case with Tom. So no, Evelyn was not intimidated but rather amused at Tom’s attempt at scaring her. 

“I’m not judging,” she assured him, placing a placating smile on her lips- one she hoped wouldn’t be interpreted as condescending. “You stayed with me to avoid going home.” Silence. She tried a smirk instead, “Either that or you really enjoy my company and really want to sleep in the room as me.” The smirk didn't feel quite right on her face, but the slightly crass joke came easily, without her really thinking about it. Tom rolled his eyes but his body was no longer as tight and coiled as before. Eve took this as a win. “So which is it?”

“Neither,” he snapped but there wasn’t the same bite and coldness as before. 

She laughed, waving him off, “You’ll hear no complaints from me Tom. Besides, I think I rather enjoy your company.”

Tom stood dumbfounded beside her bed, mouth slightly agape even as the door opened and a wizard in lime entered. He was tall, despite the way his shoulders remained hunched and his neck bowed. 

"Time for potions Miss." It was difficult to hear him, his voice little more than a whisper. Although, Tom admitted to himself, that could have just been because he was still slightly dazed from the girl- no Eve- Eve's flirting. _Was it flirting?_ Tom couldn't wrap his mind around it- around her. He retreated to the corner of the room by the window as the other wizard bustled about, helping Evelyn down potion after potion, each drawing a more amusing response from her than the last. 

“Don't laugh at me Tom, these are disgusting.” 

The healer, a sickenly sweet smile plastered on his face nodded, “Disgusting yes. But necessary, very necessary.” He watched, ensuring she consumed every drop.  _ I think I understand the necessity,  _ Eve thought, given the way her torso seemed to scream at the effort of sitting up enough to drink the potions. Evelyn looked to Tom and grinned as they both rolled their eyes at the man, who was currently checking the potion bottles for any remnants. “Next doses in four hours Miss.”

“What time is it?” Tom asked, noticing the beginnings of daylight through the closed window blinds.

“I think about four.” No wonder Tom felt tired. “Best to get some sleep in while you can Miss.” Evelyn nodded and reclined back into her pillows. The wizard turned to Tom next, “I was told you would be staying here young Sir? Normally we would not let a young boy stay with a girl. Too irresponsible and reckless. And  _ very _ inappropriate.” Eve’s eyes were dancing with mirth as she stared at Tom’s reactions. To the healer, Tom’s face looked neutral but somehow Eve knew better- rage was simmering under his skin. “But your professor spoke very highly on your behalf so we’ve made an exception. Lucky you!” Both Tom’s jaw and hands were clenched tight. Eve was barely containing her grin. The healer turned to the wooden bedside chair and, with a flourish of his wand, transfigured it into a shoddily built bed. The mattress was thin, thin enough to rival the one sat unoccupied in the orphanage. The headboard was made of the same dark wood as the chair but the cut was uneven and rough, same as the frame. It looked as though Tom would be getting a splinter or two. As he sat on the edge something creaked and the bed tilted forward, the legs clearly uneven. Eve winced, Tom scowled.  _ This is the work of a grown wizard. Even Parkinson could do better.  _

“I’ll leave the two of you to sleep.” 

Evelyn smiled politely at him but started laughing as soon as he closed the door behind him. 

“Utter idiot.” 

“I have a feeling that bed is going to collapse on you tonight,” Eve said through laughs. 

“Shut up. He didn't even leave me a blanket. Or a pillow!” Tom’s voice had taken on a whiny quality that just made Evelyn laugh harder until she was practically wheezing. It took her a few minutes to calm down enough to tell him there were spare blankets in the corner cabinet. 

Tom finally settled into the uncomfortable bed with a scratchy blanket and a flat pillow. A small part of him wanted to be back in his room in the orphanage- at least the bedding there wasn't  _ that  _ bad. But then he realised due to the small nature of the room his bed was directly beside Eve’s, leaving her only an arm’s reach away. The thought made him happy for some reason. Tom closed his eyes, the need to sleep overtaking his distaste for where he would be sleeping. 

“Tom?” a small whispered voice called into the dark room. He made a small _hmm_ noise, too tired for anything else. 

“I can’t sleep.” 

Tom sighed. “What do you want me to do about it?” His voice must’ve been harsher than he thought for the snake tightened slightly, this time on his upper arm. 

“I don’t know… Sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” 

“I don't know.”

“Then don't apologise.”

“So-”

“Don't. Just- go to sleep.” Tom wasn’t the best at social interactions, let alone at four in the morning with a girl he’d known for less than half a day. There was a peaceful silence after that, Tom nearly fell asleep.  _ Nearly.  _

“... I can't though.” Evelyn was clearly frustrated with herself, her annoyance leaking into her voice. Tom reached out blindly in the dark, groping bed sheets and blankets until he found her hand. He squeezed it gently. 

“Evey?”

“Yes?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Okay.” Tom sighed and closed his eyes again, embracing the silence, more than ready for sleep. Her hand was still firmly in his. “Not sure I like being called Evey.” Tom hadn't even realised he had given her a nickname. But now that she had made her displeasure known, Tom wasn’t going to retract the name. 

“I don't care. Go to sleep Evey.” 

“Okay… Tommy”

“No.”

“What's wrong Tommy?” 

“Don't call me Tommy.”

“Then don't call me Evey.”  _ Not likely,  _ he thought. 

“Go to sleep. Now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Any errors or suggestions are more than welcome :)


	3. III

#  Chapter Three

Tom was woken by the strange feeling of being watched. He was groggy, certain he had only just closed his eyes. Slowly opening his eyes Tom sat up, feeling as though a troll had fallen on him.  _ Everything  _ hurt. A deep ache had settled into his limbs and his neck flared with pain with each movement. 

The first thing Tom noticed was that he wasn’t in his room- neither his one in the orphanage nor the one in the Slytherin dungeons. It was far too bright. 

The second thing he noticed was that his right hand was hot- clammy and sweaty and holding tightly to something. Looking towards it Tom saw it outstretched, grasping a hand. A soft  _ female _ hand. 

_ What in the name of Merlin? _

And then he saw the snow white hair spread on a pillow. 

Evelyn. Eve. Evey. 

Sitting up further, Tom noted her eyes eere still firmly shut and her breaths even so she wasn’t the one giving him the odd feeling. Tom ran his unoccupied hand through his surely messy hair, pushing it out of his half-open eyes. 

It was only then he noticed the other occupants of the room. 

Professor Slughorn stood by the foot of his bed. Having only just awoken, and having no caffeine in his system, Tom was not ready to deal with Slughorn. He did not have the energy for that. Slughorn’s grin was smug, as if he knew something secret Tom did not, and his emerald green Wizarding robes fit almost too well, the waistcoat buttons straining with the effort of staying in their holes.

But it was the greying wizard hovering by the door that caused the feeling of dread to pool in his stomach. He was dressed in a mess of pinks and reds which clashed horribly with his half-auburn-half-grey hair and beard. His arms were crossed, hands tucked into the large droopy sleeves as he stared at Eve’s hand held tightly in his own. 

Professor Dumbledore did not look pleased at the sight. 

There was no outward sign of disapproval. No sneer. No tutting. No shaking of his overly large head (with an ego to match). Yet Tom knew the transfiguration master was not pleased simply because Professor Dumbledore had never been pleased when it came to Tom. 

As always, Horace Slughorn was oblivious to the mutual disdain permeating the small room. “I see you slept well m’boy,” he jested, wiggling his thick eyebrows in an inappropriately suggestive manner. “But you may wish to let go of the girl before the headmaster arrives. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea now m’boy.” Through gritted teeth Tom replied with a small  _ yes sir  _ and reluctantly let go of Evey, gently placing her hand back to her side. 

Slughorn then ushered the teen from the room with the promise of clean clothes and a cup of tea before the day’s inquiries began. 

_ God,  _ he was tired.

Tom interrupted the balding man’s spiel of useless information with a murmured, “Inquiries?”

“Of the girl Tom. Of where she came from and how she ended up so injured and who she is,” Slughorn elaborated, rather mystified by his student’s seemingly sudden lack of intelligence and logic.  _ Tom was so tired.  _ And despite only knowing her for a few hours, Tom felt like Eve had been by his side for…  _ forever.  _ It was a strange feeling that Tom quickly realised he loathed: the lack of common sense and the ability to forget the facts all due to her. Upon finally reaching the ward’s men’s room, Slughorn bundled his arms with clothes-  _ was he carrying those this whole time?-  _ before all but shoving him through the door none too gently. 

Tom couldn’t help but let a sigh loose from his lips as he locked the door behind him. It had already been a strange day and he was so goddamn tired. Tom undressed slowly, relishing the silence and privacy. Since she fell early yesterday evening, Tom felt as though he had not been left alone for a single minute. And Tom liked being alone. It was likely the result of being surrounded by idiots for the majority of his life.  _ You can't be annoyed by another’s presence if you were the only one around.  _

Tom finally noticed the green snake nesting in the crook of his arm. He had forgotten it was even there. Given his previous lack of privacy, Tom had not had the opportunity to thoroughly inspect the small tattoo yet. It was an incredible mimicry of his house’s sigil- so very similar to the tapestry on the mantle above the fireplace in the common room. How many times had he inspected that delicately woven fabric? As he compared the snake on his arm to the one in his mind's eye he saw no difference. The snake wiggled further onto his forearm, forming an ‘S’ shape.  _ It’s a little Salazar snake.  _ By why did Evey have it? And why did it transfer to him? Would she take it back if she touched it? 

Why why why. 

Tom had too many questions and not enough answers. It just reaffirmed his plan of staying close to Evelyn. Being someone she confided in would soon lead to results. And results were what he needed. So he would hold her hand and call her Evey and anything else she wanted and he would get results. 

Tom pulled on the clean shirt and trousers and started brushing his teeth, wondering if he was purposefully being slow in an attempt to passive aggressively spite Dumbledore. 

Toothbrush half-hanging out of the side of his mouth Tom froze. 

Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore, the renowned legilimens, who has hated him since they met, was alone with Eve. Eve, the girl who fell from the sky and somehow knew him, was alone with a man that could read her thoughts and delve into her memories and Merlin knew what else.

Fuck. 

Tom wanted nothing more than to run back to Eve’s room and prevent Dumbledore from going anywhere near her mind. Tom was fairly sure she wasn’t lying about not knowing anything but no one could be absolutely certain. No one except a legilimens. They could be absolutely certain. Dumbledore was the last person Tom wanted knowing more than him. 

So he left the bathroom, clad in fresh clothes and holding his neatly folded dirty ones. Slughorn stood just outside the door humming a repetitive tune, two china teacups floating behind him. 

“Ah Tom m’boy there you are! I've asked for breakfast to be delivered to the lady’s room. Although I daresay it’s closer to lunch than to breakfast.” Slughorn made a small self-righteous  _ hmmph  _ sound as he waved his wand. The clothes and the toothbrush vanished from his arms just to be replaced with the china teacup full of too-milky tea. 

“Eve.”

“What was that m’boy?” 

“She decided that her name for now was Evelyn.”

Slughorn had this  _ look _ on his face. It was a strange mixture of concern and elation and pure dopiness. The slowly balding professor honestly just looked constipated. “Oh yes. Yes yes. A temporary name is good. Less confusing.” Slughorn placed his clammy hand on Tom’s shoulder and patted firmly. “Might be best not to get too…  _ attached  _ m’boy. Dumbledore will figure out who she is in no time at all and she’ll be back home where she belongs soon I’m sure.” Tom took a generous sip from his scalding tea to occupy his mouth and prevent any scalding comments from escaping his lips. It would not do well to annoy his head of house, regardless of how condescending a shoulder pat was and regardless of how much his words angered him.

The two turned the corner onto Eve’s hallway, neither entirely certain of what to expect. 

———

Eve wasn’t sure what to make of the Professor. He seemed rather eccentric to say the least. The man’s choice of clothing made her internally wince- maybe it was an external wince but she could pretend that was due to pain. He was perched on Tom’s shoddily transfigured bed, staring contemplatively at her. To Eve, it felt more like he was staring through her. Into her. It was more than a little unsettling and not for the first time that morning-  _ afternoon?-  _ Eve wanted Tom. 

She’d felt so panicked with the flighty healers the day before. With their condescending smiles and half-arsed promises of  _ it’ll be fine, you’ll be fine  _ and their inability to explain what was happening she had felt the cold hand of fear gripping at her heart, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe. 

And then there was the large auror who had burst into her room not long after she’d woken. She was still drowsy from the potions and the spells, so much so she had struggled to form complete sentences, words jumbling in her head and mangled on their way from her throat. Yet still he had loomed over her bed, asking question after question after question and he couldn’t understand that she didn’t know anything. His large round face had gotten progressively redder as the conversation went on before turning an ugly purple colour, at which point his overly smiley sidekick said they’d be in touch soon and saw them both out. 

She had been left alone for a while. She preferred it to the presence of those she had met but still her mind was buzzing. Questions and questions and no answers and questions and the walls were slowly closing in and she was stuck, unable to move in the bandages and casts and then there was him. 

He wasn’t an instant fix. No, he didn’t enter the room and she was magically fixed. But he was interesting. Interesting enough for her to not focus on all the unanswered questions. And he was sweet. Even when he was attempting to appear aloof or intimidating he was sweet. And holding his hand felt so familiar, as if she’d done it a million times before. And she with this unusual wizard sat by her side she wanted familiarity. 

The old man had been hovering by the door when she woke. At the sight of the unknown wizard watching her, Eve attempted to sit up, scrambling back towards the headboard. His blue eyes had turned to ice as he registered her fear yet still he came closer, sitting on Tom’s vacant bed-  _ where is Tommy?- _ and extending his hand, which she promptly ignored. 

“Albus Percival Wulfrfic Brian Dumbledore.” Eve gave him a polite yet obviously strained smile. “I am the transfiguration professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of course I have other titles but that one is my favourite.” Eve stood corrected. She did know what to make of the wizard. He was a narcissistic prick. At least, that was her first impression and that was the only impression that mattered in life. He prattled on about the joys of teaching for a while before seeming to remember why he was there. “Oh forgive me my dear, old age makes one take their time; I often forget that children like yourself are always needing to get things done as soon as possible.”  _ Narcissistic, prickish and condescending? Joy.  _

Eve was rather grouchy in the mornings. 

“Let’s take a look in your mind dear.” 

_ Oh shit.  _

— — —

Standing in the doorway was a frail looking wizard. His grey, coarse hair reaching his waist, only marginally longer than the beard, however both appeared longer due to man’s hunched back. Wrinkles were carved deep into the man’s face, mostly concentrated on his forehead, few around his eyes and mouth. The robes were a plain grey, made of fine material but simplistic in nature. The man was unnaturally still as he stared into the small hospital room. Tom was almost concerned that the headmaster had finally given up the ghost, no life left in him to even make it to the floor in death. 

Alas, Armando Dippet turned to face the newcomers. Tom was certain he could hear the man’s neck creak as it slowly moved. 

“Headmaster!” Slughorn was near yelling as he moved to embrace the elder man. The sight was entertaining: Slughorn, the pompous wizard he was, was drowning in layers of coordinating silk purple robes attempting to hug the no-nonsense headmaster, a wizard known for not being affectionate or empathetic. Tom almost snorted as Dippet threw a single eyebrow up at Slughorn’s behaviour. That glare was lethal. 

“Horace.”

“Has Dumbledore learnt anything of value?” Slughorn was craning his head through the open doorway, blocking everything from Tom’s view. Tom had never wanted to kill his potions’ master as much as he did in that moment. 

“No.” 

Slughorn retreated from the doorway like a child scolded by a parent. Tom subtly moved so he could see in. Eve was sat up in bed, still as bruised and broken as she was the night before. It all looked much worse in the daylight. Her eyes were wide open, assumedly fixed onto Dumbledore’s, although all Tom could see was the back of his stupid head. 

“They have been sitting like that for as long as I have stood here. He has yet to reemerge.”

“The girl must have a lot of memories,” Slughorn said in a joking matter but laughing was the furthest thing from Tom’s mind. 

The trio was silent for a long time before the headmaster spoke again. “If I did not know any better I would say the girl is a Malfoy.” Tom almost laughed.  _ Eve is nothing like Abraxas.  _

“I can see the resemblance.” Slughorn, ever eager for the opportunity to kiss his betters’ behind.  _ There is no resemblance.  _

“If there are no answers about the girl I will reach out to Lady Malfoy.” 

_ Eve living with the Malfoys? No.  _ The thought of Eve spending time with the smarmy Abraxas Malfoy made him want to gag... or hex something… preferably Abraxas Malfoy. 

“Perhaps she’s a distant relative from Europe.” Slughorn looked far too pleased at the concept of his close proximity to a Malfoy relation.  _ Eve is not a Malfoy.  _ Tom was saved from saying something he would regret to the headmaster by Dumbledore abruptly standing. 

“I don’t understand.”


End file.
